Unexpected Thumbprints
By C.S. Bezas
Today my daughter and I talked about thumbprints. She was angry
that her brother had picked up her new "singing" toothbrush
and pushed against the bristles with his thumb. Pressure against
the bristles, in theory, makes the song sound louder inside your
head while brushing your teeth.
Not only did her younger brother
pick up the toothbrush and push the bristles with his "unclean"
thumb, so did her big brother! They were fascinated with this
new piece of technology. She was nonplussed and furious that they
would sully the bristles of her toothbrush with their grimy fingers
(not that they were that grimy).
Now before the story goes much further,
I must say that her toothbrush had made its way into the "share-able
zone" downstairs, ending up in the kitchen. I'd sent it down
earlier with her younger brother as a small reminder that my daughter
had yet to brush her teeth for the day. Well, somehow the toothbrush
remained ignored — and my daughter's teeth remained unbrushed.
Some hours later, of course, was
when all the rigmarole began about "thumbprints" on
her toothbrush with filthy fingers. I took her on a nice, long
drive to share two stories with her. I wanted her to see that
our responses to unhappy events really come from within.
Don't Be a Victim
Before I shared any story at all
with her, I wanted her to understand that sometimes we unknowingly
choose to be a future victim — if we don't react carefully
to a prior incident. Later we then complain because somebody pushed
their "unclean" thumb against the left-out "toothbrush-bristles"
of our life. Yet in truth, we did nothing to solve the original
situation and as a result our languishing "toothbrushes"
keep getting used. End of story.
If we do nothing to solve the problem,
it should be no surprise then, if another individual comes along
and does the exact same thing.
I explained to my daughter that if
she had (upon the first incident) simply returned the toothbrush
back to its drawer, the second incident never would have occurred.
But instead, she only complained about the first so-called "thumbprint"
left behind by Younger Brother, doing nothing to recognize her
role in the situation.
By being proactive in unhappy scenarios,
we can avoid many future unhappy events.
So often we are willing to open our
mouths to complain about a situation, but we are not willing to
take charge and do something about it. Why is this? I think it
is so because complaining is far easier than actually doing something.
Sometimes the unhappy situation is
self-caused. (In the case of my daughter, she ignored the toothbrush
and didn't take care of her teeth as originally asked. Had she
brushed her teeth, she likely would have returned the toothbrush
to its drawer, thereby avoiding future conflict.)
But sometimes unhappy results
come about through no fault of our own. (After all, I was the
one who had sent the toothbrush downstairs as a reminder to her.
She had responsibly kept the toothbrush in its proper place.)
Life is full of surprises, even unpleasant
ones. Some we cause and some we don't. How frustrating to have
to deal with a situation we don't deserve! Yet it is at this precise
moment that we can choose to show personal, mature inner strength.
The choices are many. Do we throw
an emotional tantrum, simply because we're angry at something
someone else did? I shared two stories from my own life at that
point with my daughter: one I am pleased with, one I'm terribly
embarrassed about.
Do Be Kind
Story #1:
I was a middle school kid and had
a thrilling assignment. A local elementary school had hired me
(for 75 whole dollars!) to create a school mascot emblem for their
gym. How impressive that as a 12-year-old kid my artwork would
"reign" above the heads of all adults and kids for the
rest of that school's history!
Immediately I set to work. My father
created a four-foot wide circle out of plywood. I painted it bright
yellow and then hand drew the school's mascot (a scorpion, of
all things). I painted a meticulous border, hand-fashioned the
school's name, and painted the elaborate mascot in the center
of the board. Up nearly most of the night to finish it, I finally
was done! I went quickly to bed, because I had school the next
day.
Imagine my horror the next morning
to discover that my little brother, no more than three years old,
had awakened to find what I'd not thought to put away the night
before — black paint and paintbrushes. He decided to "help"
and painted lovely shapes in various places on that board. It
was horrible. The emblem was supposed to be installed in the gym
that very day for the first game in the evening!
My mother was quite upset, feeling
bad for me and all my efforts and sacrifices I'd put forth with
such short notice. But for some reason, I felt great calm and
knew that my brother had only tried to complement my efforts.
He'd only wanted to help. To my twelve-year-old perspective, it
became a small thing to correctively paint on top of his handiwork
so the original design could be seen. Of course, it didn't look
quite as smoothly done after I'd finished the touch-ups, but no
harm was done. Elevated high over people's heads, they wouldn't
be able to notice.
How was I able to be so compassionate,
especially on so little sleep? I wish I knew, because the next
story I told my daughter completely disappoints me in my expressed
selfishness and shortsightedness.
Story #2:
A few years later, I was active in
high school and a pom-pom girl, which basically was like being
a cheerleader who also danced. It was the month of May. The "little"
kids from the local junior high would visit my school for two
hours to experience "high school." The end-of-the-year
assembly they would attend served to impress the incoming students
as to how awesome high school life would be for them the next
year. And since I was going to be a big part of the assembly as
a "pommie," I was very excited. How cool I would look
to my little sister and all her friends, freshly arrived at their
new high school.
Backing up a bit, I explained to
my daughter while telling the story that whereas it was fun to
be well-known in my high school, I also hated the "ditz"
reputation I'd inherited. Not sure why, but everyone seemed to
view me as a dumb blond, even though I was a brunette!
Eventually it became a self-fulfilling
prophecy. If someone was going to forget something important,
it would be Cindy. If someone was going to say something silly,
it would be Cindy. If somebody lost their homework, it would be
— well, you get the idea! I never could seem to shake the
"dumb blond" reputation, hard as I tried.
Well, for the coming year, the new
pom squad had purchased stools. They were the coolest! We painted
them blue, one of the school colors. And then we gave our own
stool our unique touch, with whimsical painted accents in the
remaining school colors. The final moment for each of us was to
paint our name in large letters across the top of the stool.
I was very proud of mine. I'd worked
very hard at it. And for once, I was beginning to feel responsible.
Especially for this assembly. We were to bring our stools early
and place them in the gym, in preparation for the big event. This
I actually accomplished! For once, I'd not forgotten an assignment.
For once, I'd even done it early. The inner glow of achievement
felt indescribable.
Only problem was, I had to miss the
first part of the assembly, because I had been asked also to perform
at the Seniors' Assembly, even though I was only a junior. Once
done, I quickly ran across campus to make my big entrance at the
main event.
I screeched to a halt at the closed
gymnasium doors. Through the small windows, I could see the whole
squad seated on their stools at the end of the gym. They were
clapping and cheering and looked so happy. Only problem was, my
stool was missing. How could this be? I quickly ascertained that
somebody was using my stool and I was livid. For once
in my life, responsibility had almost been mine. But noooo, once
again, I was going to look like a "dumb blond" who had
forgotten something important. Where on earth would I sit?
I quickly decided to just skip the
whole event. But unbeknownst to me, the vice-principal had come
up behind me and made me enter the gym. To my complete embarrassment,
he pulled up a folding chair and required that I sit with the
rest of the squad. Now, I don't mind telling you that I realize
now what a silly and small thing this all was. But to
my teenage self, it was the absolute worst thing that could have
happened. And I'm ashamed to say that at the end of the assembly,
I quickly noticed who it was who had "taken" my stool.
Assuming she'd forgotten hers, I
quickly approached her and accused her of such things. But I didn't
accuse her nicely. No, to my shame, I screamed at Christie in
front of the rest of the squad. In fact, it got so out of control,
that a few students began gathering around to hear what was happening.
Somehow it got all straightened out.
I'm not sure who it was that pulled me to my senses. Eventually
I learned that this sweet girl had called the senior captain of
our squad to ask to borrow her stool. The squad captain and I
both happened to be called "Cindy." So when sweet Christie
arrived at the gym and saw my stool with "Cindy" on
the top, she assumed this was the stool she'd received permission
to borrow. Little did she know that "Captain Cindy"
had been so excited about her own Seniors' Assembly, she forgot
to bring her stool for Christi. Christi mistakenly used my stool,
and thus, when I arrived late, I was the odd-one-left-standing.
Today, I'm terribly ashamed at my
pride and my fall from grace in that ugly moment. Why could I
not have proffered to her the same grace I'd offered just a few
years prior to my brother? Both were unintended "thumbprints"
against the bristle of a "toothbrush" I cared very much
about. But for some reason, I handled one well and the other I
did not. From that experience, I learned not to speak to others
unkindly. We rarely have the full story.
The Final Redemption
My daughter had been all ears while
I'd told her these two accounts. In fact, she asked if I had any
more "thumbprint" stories. I laughed and told her that
they were too painful to tell more than a few at a time. But that
the point was that just because people leave unwanted "thumbprints"
in our lives, it does not give us the excuse to retaliate against
them.
She was quiet, thinking. I hope she
got the message that we really do have choice. We really do have
power over our personal responses to others' actions. And when
we choose to respond as Christ would (and as I did in the first
story and not in the second one), the ensuing emotions
are those of peace and contentment, even if we wished we'd not
had to pass through the offending event.
In D&C 64:9-10, we read:
